This flesh holds me captive and in quest of liberation...
As the sheep flock in the dissonance, I tread in dissent
To the piercing light that sears our hearts;
To the sickness that plagues our spirits...
I cannot revere in this blind acceptance and falter in my comprehension

Forfeit my injured soul, this affliction I respire!
Heal this restless spirit – that bestowed naught
Heal this heart that approached the world, as I relegate – I consign!
Heal my heart, my weeping soul...
I consign this putrid flesh

Nothing here, nobody there...
Erroneous illness shouting
The outcry reviles this tattered soil...
Drowning the world in filth and distortion

Forfeit my injured soul, this affliction I respire!
Heal this restless spirit – that bestowed naught
Heal this heart that approached the world, as I relegate – I consign!
Heal my heart, my weeping soul...
I consign this putrid flesh

I’ll leave my conscience to die
A barrenness of dreams and anticipation;
Life and hope shrivel into the void
Heal this heart that approached the world, as I relegate – I consign!
Heal my heart, my weeping soul...
I consign this putrid flesh

In this pantheon of sorrow
We are everything, yet nothing!
And as long we’re breathing
The burden devoid of conclusion!

Unaided I slither – ravaged, silent and alone
I smoulder in anxious strife; I decline these exhausted remnants of decay
The world is coming to an end; a vast ocean of disease...
All hope is lost... or perhaps this is the cradle of salvation

I must tranquil these turbulent waters
No more expressions shall leave my trait...
No further words shall be spoken
This illness they conceived broke my tired wings